Bank Holiday Curse

Blimey! Last day of August and it feels like the middle of October in Kent. I'm sitting here in my customary bare feet thinking, 'Hmmmm, a pair of fluffy socks wouldn't go amiss,' and my hands are doing passable impressions of ice-blocks despite the wamr-up they've had this morning, what with being overcome with a fit of the writing muse.

Darn it, I may have to go and put on a jumper. I'm definitely going to make a cup of tea in a mo. And last night, I was covered in cats who always home in to a warm lap when the weather starts to turn.

Anyway, we had to buy a new washing machine on Monday. For the Bank Holiday curse struck again. In our house, whenever there is a Bank Holiday, it is a pretty dead cert that some household appliance will give up the ghost. This time, it was the washing machine. It was to be expected, really. For the past few weeks it has been difficult to hold a conversation in the kitchen when the washing machine is spinning. Even shouted conversations. It's been like having a pneumatic drill hacking away in the corner.

'That doesn't sound good,' I've been shouting for a while.
'No,' Andy has been shouting back.
But we didn't want to give up on the machine - I mean, it was still washing, just washing VERY LOUDLY!
And the frisson of excitement as one waited for something to bang or crash or explode or rocket across the floor added a spot of fun to the dullness of a wash day.

But on Monday it all became too much. I don't like noise at the best of times, but we had finally reached Raddled Nerve Status 100% and then some. A quick interwebbly search confirmed that the bearings were the likely cause of the Boeing-worthy delivery of decibels, and that repair was not a DIY option and calling someone out with spares to do the job was likely to be an expensive option compared to the one of purchasing a new machine.

Another interwebbly search brought up a trillion choices for washing machines, so we literally stuck a pin in the cheapy options and the choice was made in about three minutes. Andy was dispatched to purchase machine (in stock - hurrah!) and it is now stood in the middle of the kitchen awaiting him to plumb it in tomorrow when I shall be back at work and unable to hear the swearing and huffing and puffing.

And that's the Bank Holiday Curse for you.